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Spinning Tales Around the Text
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"Stones and walls mark where a village once stood. There are no people now. All you can hear are the cries of buzzards, the chipping of stonechats, the tumbling notes of the skylarks and the distant song of the sea."
Once when I was walking I heard a strange erie screaming noise coming from a dry stone wall. When I got closer I could just see a wedge-shaped face and bright eyes peering out at me, twinkling. It was a weasel in the wall. So I put a weasel in the book. Somewhere.
All birds fly differently. Small birds like wrens dart quickly through bushes, so fast. Goldfinch rise and fall and chirrup on the wing. Choughs wheel and tumble in balletic displays. Oyster catchers rise from their rocks calling a shrill piping warning. At one time they were called pied pipers because of their colour and their call. Sit and watch the flight of birds for a while. Listen to a piece of music called "The Lark Ascending" by Ralph Vaughn Williams. You can almost hear the bird flying higher and higher into the sky until it becomes a dot against the blue. Write a piece of music, or a poem or prose to describe the flight of birds.
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